


Fear

by russianwinter013



Category: Darker Than Black
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Horror, Cannibalism, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Genocide, Gore, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Apocalypse, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7035340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russianwinter013/pseuds/russianwinter013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are afraid of us, yet they have no reason to be. We have never harmed them unless we were threatened in a lethal manner. But now they have gone too far. They have crossed the line. Now...they will have something to fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear

The world was screaming.

It was a heart-wrenching sound, filled to the brim with pure and unadulterated terror. The horrid cry echoed throughout the area, a rightful personification of agony and rage and despair.

They stood there, soaked to the bone, their cold and rigid bone, in blood and bits of flesh and organs. The gore cloaking them was fresh, oh so deliciously fresh, and steam from the heated remains of their attackers rose in steady streams.

Humanity was gone. There was nothing left.

Only the contractors remained.

And it would stay that way forever.

An extremely tall and slim figure stood at the head of the group of former humans. The dark cloak that was wrapped around his lean and powerful body flowed in the sanguinary wind, streaming from his body in ribbons of bloodstained and bulletproof industrialized cloth. His face was not visible through the thick shadows that swirled around the hood of his cloak, yet a sliver of a flawless white mask and bottomless obsidian eyes could be only slightly visible through the monstrous shadows.

Beside him stood a slim young woman. Silver hair cascaded in flowing and silky locks down her back, and congealing droplets of blood stained the hem of her otherwise flawless deep azure dress. Clouded lilac eyes gazed out towards the city of destruction, yet her small and petite hand was enclosed in that of the towering male standing almost protectively above her. In her free hand, a tattered rag doll hung, its lifeless button eyes reflecting the light of the charred sun as its fingerless hand dragged against the ground, the fabric soaked in the fluids of the dead and dying surrounding its owner and her lover.

The broken wind moaned throughout the diseased land, spreading its ashen fingers into every available crevice. A dark sense of pleasure forced its way into each being that was still graced with the useless ability to live.

The petite woman moved, reaching out with her free hand. The masked figure sensed the motion and turned to take her hand, his gloved one enveloping hers in a strange mimicry of a predator devouring its prey.

"Fear."

One single word. One single word that could hold so much different meanings.

Anxiety.

Depression.

Wondering why something could or could not happen.

_What are we insignificant specks in the universe worth anyway?_

It was almost amusing, these funny little human emotions.

A sickening crunch tore through the thick and content blanket of silence, and the masked man tilted his head as he turned to the source. One of his companions was on their knees, rocking back and forth as her eyes widened and her mouth moved in a stream of silent words.

The white-haired woman tugged on the man's coat, and her clouded eyes seemed to burn with some sort of emotion. She nodded, tilting her head in the direction of the broken woman.

Letting go of his partner's hand, the towering being approached the despairing woman silently, ignoring the way her teammates all backed away from the dark and overpowering presence of their leader.

With something similar to a dissatisfied sigh, the masked man bent down on one knee in front of the trembling woman. The eerie smile on his mask was out of place in the context of the world around them, and the bottomless yet bone-dry black holes that served for eyes filled any being that so much as glanced at them with a spine-tingling sense of dread and hopelessness.

"Why do you weep?"

The woman froze at the deep and gravelly, detached voice, her lips trembling as she struggled to form words.

Without so much as a twitch, the man had his bloodstained metal-soled boot pressed against her face. The thick and warm crimson blood that stained the sole trickled slowly over tear-stained flesh, and a sound akin to a sob escaped the restrained woman.

The man leaned closer, his head tilted at a strange angle. The battered wind moaned around them, and the faint sounds of dripping fluids and tattered flesh played in a horrific cacophony performed by a demented, hellish orchestra.

_"Why do you weep?"_

A pale hand rose through the heated air, and a small body was pressing against the large one of the masked man. Tiny and cool fingers searched the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the contour of the hardened flesh and muscle and bone that was his body. Feeling the barely-there rise and fall of his chest as he breathed shallowly, his mind having convinced him that air was no longer a necessity so long as he acquired everything else in some manner.

A deep and dark rumble echoed throughout the decimated landscape. The miserable female being shrieked her protest as metal was ground into the skin of her face, slowly but surely carving away layer after layer of flesh.

The man hissed something beneath his breath, trailing a hand through the snowy strands of the petite woman's hair.

Cry.

Suffer.

Moan.

It proves the inevitable fact.

_"You are not one of us."_

With a noise reminiscent of a snarl, the masked man unsheathed a large blade and brought it down. The woman's head rolled off to the side as the weapon cut through the physical and mental despair of her former self and released her from eternal torment.

A nudge against the man's side drew his attention back to the present. Pale lilac eyes seemed to stare at him, and the wind made her hair flow in elegant waves around her heart-shaped face.

With a dark imitation of a laugh, the man turned and pulled out another blade.

Screams echoed throughout the land.

The woman was perched on a rock, listening with a cocked ear to the sound her mate, of terror and fear incarnate, tearing into the remaining survivors.

She smiled softly.

It couldn't have gone any better.


End file.
